


Azure Duality

by theMiragePrismatic



Series: Walk Towards the Seventh Dawn [3]
Category: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Gen, Original Characters - Freeform, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, characters in descending order of importance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-10-16 00:38:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10560440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theMiragePrismatic/pseuds/theMiragePrismatic
Summary: Azure Dragoons are driven by two primary qualities: vengeance and protection. Estinien really only has one. Fortunately, this a strange age and the path need not be traversed alone.





	1. Snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aoirohi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aoirohi/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Echoes of My Soul](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9036482) by [theMiragePrismatic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theMiragePrismatic/pseuds/theMiragePrismatic). 



> gifted to Aoirohi for their enthusiasm for 'Echoes in My Soul'. Hope you enjoy this one as well.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snow is deceptively comforting after having sense and self beaten back into you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone was waiting, here is the Estinien soul-match fic! References 'Echoes in the Blue' with Aymeric. Features shorter-chapters. Omg, this has been sitting in my drives for ages...

Everything aches. Every ilm, every muscle. His very mind feels squished, aching, his thoughts turning to mud. His vision spins. The cold snow seems to come through his armor. The sky is gray.  
  
Every muscle throbs and moving them an insurmountable task.  
  
His sight clears as he pried his eyes open, fighting his way out of a fog.  
  
An impatient hand pushes his visor up, pulls off his helmet.

He feels exposed and vulnerable but he's also lying in the snow.  
  
He's staring up at the pale- bottle green eyes of a Duskwight, a tattoo the color of her eyes etched across her left one, hair neatly pinned up out of the way. Her lance shimmers faintly from its place on her back - her armor isn't drachen mail either and yet...

She forces his gaze to her, searching for something within the depths of his eyes as his throat tries to unlock enough to croak something-  anything. Finally, her gaze relaxed, her relieved breath shaking her entire form. “Thank the Fury."

“Sister… You… “ Sister, Dragoon, Lance, Dragonslayer,  _Azure Dragoon, a second -_  
  
"You fool." Isarette's touch is cool on his skin, a welcome relief from the heat of his face. "You damnable, bloodlusting fool."

"Alberic, I found them!”

He closes his eyes, tired and exhausted, his mind stuffed with cotton. He wants space, he wants to _run_ but as she helps him sit up, spotting a lalafell running through the snow, trailed by his fath - Alber - his  _father_ , he can't muster the energy to do so. Not enough energy to do anything.

Too numb, too... not angry to care. And he rests his head on her shoulder. He breathes.

"You really are my soulmatched."

"You need all the loved ones you can find."

His loved ones are dead.

"Estinien!"

The crushing pressure on his hand and her glare prompts him to look up - at the crushing guilt and despair and relief in Alberic's eyes.

But then again, a bigger piece than he would admit was rather relieved he woke up to worried faces and Isarette's anxious healer friend rather than alone in the snow and malms from anyone who would give a damn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Started at the end. there is more to come!


	2. Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was always dragons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos, guest and the bookmark from Sayriel! :)

His family had been killed by dragonfire. How he'd loved that village. He had been quite content with the idea of being a shepherd. To carry out the family trade. Helping his family. He vaguely remembers being a peaceful child.

Grief claimed him. Darkness.

When the words appeared, though faint.

He nearly clawed them off, making marks and bloody tracks, panicking Alberic.

He'd rather not think about it

He had never paid them much mind - not the words, not the soulmark - a sword - down his back. When he meets Aymeric - and he proves a great friend (good friends follow one through the snow and shoot a dragon in the eye for you), he begins to reconsider. But he doesn't have time for such fanciful notions.

The words are largely unnoticed and largely undiscussed. Well, largely - sometimes Aymeric is anxious. He lets the church get into his head too much. Estinien often thinks his own words are better left unsaid but his sparse words seem to hit their mark with Aymeric.

"Don't worry about it," Estinien said after Aymeric escapes a confessional without any mishaps or unfortunate slip. Estinien had been elsewhere otherwise, he would have dragged Aymeric with him to practice. Confessionals are useless - priestly and warrior views were too opposing, in Estinien's mind. "I have them too. Words."

He doesn't particularly _care_ what the words mean - they don't bother him as much as they bother Aymeric who often mutters about odd dreams. More than once has Aymeric been standing in the _rain storms_ for bells and Alberic and Correaux - Aymeric's rather pleasant Knight Mentor - has to cuff him round the head.

"What do you think it means?"

"Ishgard is going to change. And we'll be the ones to end this damnable war."

When he did care about the words, after all, he was very certain they were going to be a dragoon like him. Aymeric was... a puzzle and he valued his friendship but if the other soulmatch was _not_ a dragoon, he was going to be very annoyed.

He could feel it in his bones, in his blood when his bit his tongue too hard - he made it his mission not to protect Ishgard - but to kill Nidhogg. And this war would be over - his family avenged.

Ignoring the fact of course, he watched all the dragoons like a hawk and Heustienne was not the soulmatch. Which - he was just mildly disappointed about if only because it would have been convenient.

And then Carteneau happens, the dragons are in a frenzy, most of the Knights Dragoon are away from the city and a dragon _breaks the moon open from the inside._ The city - predictably - goes into a panick but after what feels like days of  _he_ is far more concerned with unconscious Aymeric - in a tower with no one the wiser. Damnable fool - how does one pass out in a tower? Well... perhaps that great bloody dragon was answer enough.

He wakes up before Aymeric in the hospitalier rooms - and he is crying with no idea as to why. His arm feels like it had frostbite and a chunk of his heart has begun to bleed afresh - metaphorically speaking _and he has no idea why_.

Seeing Aymeric's faded and scarred soulmark - hearing the full tale about the odd things he heard and saw because of it makes it painfully clear.

Well, slightly.

Rainstorms and lightning, dreams, songs in his mind - it is veering dangerously into unknown territory - like Halone herself has been speaking to Aymeric or granted him some power - or his soulmatch.

Who is dead. At Carteneau.

Which had a dragon rampaging over it.

The flashes of Estinien's dream come back afresh - screams of battle the heat of spells, magitek - casting, casting. casting

\- her voice growing hoarse, her arms becoming jelly as she swung her staff again and again - wishing for a lance.

_Her?_

The snows fall without cease and not even the clergy can make some quarters stop thinking Halone is displeased with them. After all, a dragon came out of the moon.

And it killed _her._ Killed them.

_A blood red sky and ground, orange light - a dragon so huge it eclipsed all, its wings massive -_

_"Isarette!"_

_A small conjurer in white clinging to a Duskwight in voluminous robes -_

_And everything was gone - white-blue light washing everything away._

The tears soaked his face, this whiskey was terrible and - hey. Crying with Aymeric was better than crying alone.

Though they would never speak of this again.

Now, he had more than one reason for slaying dragons. And a new target.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't get to see my brother today so i get to post things. Snippets about the Warriors of Light!


	3. Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Soulmatches die, it is generally accepted that the soulmark scarred over. And does not come back. 
> 
> Five years after Carteneau - Estinien and Aymeric's soulscars become marks again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to insert this chapter before the one I had originally planned so its a day later than I wanted to post. :(  
> (I feel like I should point out that takes places before Aymeric meets his soulmatched, specifically during the First Section of Chapter 2: 'Lord Commander'

Being in the gaol - even temporarily - was not an option no matter how much he wanted to run Ser Paulecrain through and hang him from the highest spire of the Vault. He didn't care if he’d been a dragoon -

Cutting off the thought, Estinien headed out. There was a flock of Dravanian outflyers who needed to be dispatched. The other dragoons were suitable acquaintances - and he _did_ occasionally act as a Commander - though he mostly foisted those duties on Heustienne who was better suited to the 'leading' part of being Azure Dragoon.

Regardless of the highborns grumbling, most dragoons were an eccentric and rebellious bunch. After all, a few of them had taught adventurers their techniques. He’d gone along because Heustienne had challenged him and Aymeric came because - reasons.

Now, he's disappointed that the excursions hadn't yielded better results. Like certain meetings.

He’s reasonably exerted, lance pierced through the eye of a drake - when his arm chills, unnaturally, specifically. The next drake is murdered in a blink and he retreats, confusion warring within as he tears off his gauntlets.

In ice blue tinged with green, new words healed over the previous soulscars. Estinien stares.

New words. Soulscars. Soulscars healing over. Becoming new soulmarks. What -

In the name of the Fury.

He tapped his linkpearl. "Patrol, mop up. I have an appointment with the Astrologers."

 

The astrologer he is bribing with sweetcake to search the heavens for signs of Bahamut is balks at the idea of reading for anything but dragons. Bahamut was not around and he was not terrorizing Ishgard so no one cared about him - except Estinien and Aymeric. Estinien - for vengeance and Aymeric, because he was very worried for Estinien’s sanity on account of this intentions.

Since the astrologer has the tenacity to stare him down - even as he trembles like a leaf - Estinien heads back to the city proper in the hopes of terrorizing (or bribing) a less resilient astrologer into reading the stars for a soulmatch. They did do that on occasion in the city, so terror shouldn't been entirely necessary. 

His intended stalking of the Astrologicium is interrupted by Lucia - who no doubt disapproves of him missing the Meeting the day prior. "An old wound of the Lord Commander's is acting up," she adds, shifting from First Commander to acquaintance. They both respect Aymeric, would follow him onto the seventh hell but they are not particularly close themselves. "Perhaps, you shall counsel him." The threat is there and he is willing to heed it.  He needs to see Aymeric anyway.

 

"I see you have diege to grace us with your presence." Aymeric greets him from the desk though it is more an automatic response than an actual retort. 

Estinien looms and stares; he does not have time for Aymeric's mood. Aymeric frowns up at him and pulls off his glove, holding up his arm - the levinbolt like scars have twined around a new set of words, marked in lavender.

Y _ou seem to have me at a disadvantage, Aymeric_  

Estinien blinks. Their other soulmatches _both_ died at Carteneau. He vowed to avenge them both. Their marks scarred at the same time. And now... their marks  _unscarred_ at the same time.

"Estinien?"

He's a little reluctant to show his but he does.  _You have a sense of drama, don't you?_

Aymeric's bark of laughter is brief before thought settles onto his features and he pulls out a bottle of Banefire Whiskey.

"How irresponsible of you," he chides and sits on the desk; the Lord Commander doesn't have extra chairs espite Lucia's subtle complains

_She's alive._

Aymeric seems to think it's someone else.

"I don't want another soulmatch," he says after a goblet of the whiskey.

Estinien stares. blinks slowly, pushes up his visor for dramatic effect because he always wears his armor and Aymeric is one of the very few people post-Azure Dragoon appointment to see his face. It makes him laugh. Or at least smile - he can tell even though Aymeric is trying to hide it.

"You think she's the same one?"

"Of course."

“They died. At Carteneau.” Aymeric reminds him, brow twitching into something like anger. The pain, the  - the vow. Aymeric played eulogies in the Biscilia - in the small hours. More than one admirer drifted to listen and only Estinien glaring at them deterred the bolder ones. It was his respects, his mourning - how dare they even  _contemplate_ intruding. "Did you - "

"I have found no trace of Bahamut."

"Good."

"Aymeric - "

"He is a  _monster_ , you would  _die_."

It is an old argument. Aymeric was not happy with the idea of Estinien aiming to kill Bahamut - dragon the size of the moon - and had no qualms saying so. Estinien scoffed - of course he would go for the eyes first and foremost. Besides, did he not want their soulmatches to be avenged?

"They _vanished_ at Carteneau.” he says, skipping over Bahamut entirely. _That's_ what the blue light had been in his vision. The Eye sharpened his sensitivity to aether and now with new information... 

Aymeric considers this. "That doesn't make sense."

"Aether does not care what does and does not make sense to us."

Estinien is satisfied to be proven right when Aymeric's odd afflictions come back soon after so the Lord Commander becomes cautiously hopeful.

Estinien wonders if this renders his declaration of revenge upon Bahamut moot. If the puzzling and frustrating absence of the dragon himself did not already do so. If they were  _both_ alive - 

… it did not. It is still a dragon. It still made her - them - vanish for nearly five winters.

... Perhaps Aymeric was correct. Soulscars did not become soulmarks again. If there was a new soulmatch, there was a new soulmark. Soulmarks did not come back (usually).

He knew every dragoon. Perhaps she wasn't Ishgardian. Which meant staying here was not helping him. Perhaps it was time to stop pestering (and bribing) the astrologer with sweetcakes and start looking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Estinien doesn't seem to actually... command anyone? This could be a consequence of... a bizarre lack of Dragoons (do they not have a whole bunch???) but he seems to be in ... a class of his own. Considering he blows off high society invites (which most folks would balk at even if they were uncomfortable) i imagine being Azure Dragoon accords him with a number of leeways and privileges. Poor Heustienne is the one who gets foisted with command. ^_^;
> 
> *Astrologers - to differentiate them from Sharlayan Astrologians. There was a localization/translation reason for them using the same term for both in English but i do not remember or care and there is a perfectly good canonical English term
> 
> Lucia - (random aside) I am really frustrated that we have no idea when exactly she showed up in Ishgard. So many questions


	4. Roar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe - a little late. And short.

It started with a dragon. It always does.

The Observatorium made note of the Eorzean Alliance campaign but paid no mind to it - until a dragon's roar shook the skies. Why was it that when the Eorzean Alliance went to war, a dragon seemed to make its presence known?

... What if it was  _the same one_?

Estinien is armored and out the window of his barracks as he wakes up. The dream had descended on the dragoons en mass – the roar of a great wyrm, beneath Eorzea, shortly after they had claimed victory over Castrum Meridianum. 

The Knights Dragoon are in chaos - but Heustienne and Aymeric have them well in hand.

This is the opportunity he was waiting for - not that he really  _needed_ it.

.

.

.

Stealing the Eye is easy for him - he is the Azure Dragoon, paragon to Ishgard. He waits quite some time - to be assure no nasty surprise befalls Ishgard in the aftermath of the attack. There is no point in being Azure Dragoon if he does not repay his debt. Ishgard has granted him the means to gain his revenge, after all. And Aymeric would be put out if he went harrying off and then the city burned.

He takes the Eye. And when he returns it perhaps a chat with the guards is in order.

The armor of the Azure Dragoon affords both anonymity and purpose. In taking the Eye and drawing Nidhogg's away he accomplishes several tasks - selfless and selfish in equal measure. Nidhogg will only come after him. and Nidhogg will only come after him.

He cannot say the same for any other dragons - Bahamut - but if it was him, it seems the beast is not interested in emerging from wheresoever it lairs. 

Perhaps he could have been subtler; the See panicks Their attempts to find him are laughable. Unless one is a dragoon.

“Lord Azure! Stop this madness!”

If it was Haustienne perhaps he would feel compelled to explain himself. Though he feels confident enough in her skills that nothing would NEED explaining.

“I assure you - I am looking out for Ishgard,” he says instead. The young Dragoons are often the most anxious.  
  
He ventures into Abalathia’s Spine and into the frozen wastes but though Nidhogg stirs, the wyrm seems content to bide his time.

That is fine for Estinien - an event so unlikely Aymeric would have confined him to bed - or attempted to, at least.

It gives him time.  
  
As he perches on a hilltop, overlooking Mor Dhona he wonders... and waits. And investigates. Mor Dhona is sparsely populated. Still seen as sacred land - though ravaged the resident build on the edges. Leaving him free to poke around.

He is undisturbed by others though it seems his own mind is ill-pleased to have his attention elsewhere. 

Whether it be Bahamut or Nidhogg surely either would fulfill his duty as a dragoon? His subconscious - and his disturbed sleep - says otherwise.

The soulwords on his arm seem to glow and hum brightest during those nights and he stares at the sky and wonders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Aymeric would be put out if he went harrying off and then the city burned." What an UNDERSTATEMENT, Estinien. Gosh.
> 
> Considering a dragon popped out of the damn moon and then there was a roar heard in Mor Dhona, you would think there would be some grumbles in Ishgard. After, they've been dragonslaying for years.
> 
> Apparently, Alberic concealed the fact the Eye was missing - something I forgot. Whoops! in 'Echoes of My Soul' I say that the Holy See flipped out about it and it was stressing out Aymeric and Alberic. So, I'm sticking with that. ^_^;


	5. Speech

Estinien's search of Mor Dhona did not go well. Returning to Coerthas eases his restless sleep. But it seems he had made an error.

The Azure Dragoon leaps into the cliffs, hearing someone approach. He was not overly worried about being found and he did need to eat.

Presently, the source of his pique revealed itself.

A chocobo carrying two riders approached-  a Duskwight and… he had to think on it. … nope, nothing - oh yes. A lalafell. Unheard of in Coerthas.

“No one’s home.” the lalafellin conjurer noted, dropping off the chocobo. Dressed in white robes with red triangles on the hems and sleeves, she reminded him very vaguely of the Vault Priests. But she didn't wear a ridiculous hat - instead her hood was up against the cold. “Except those petrocs."

Her Duskwight companion idly ran one through with her lance, right through the skull and pivoted dealing a vorpal thrust that sliced through the wing of another.

The petroc shrieked, spitting fire; she thrust her spear - ice aether - shining, dispelling it and frowned at her partner when a rock dropped on it.

“What?"

Estinien narrowed his eyes, focusing on the Duskwight. Did she put _magic_ into her lance? He prepared to leap. Both adventurers looked up as he dropped from the clifftops landing heavily. His primary concern was the mystic lancer though he might have difficulty if the conjurer started throwing rocks.

“That Ishgard would resort to sending coin starved adventurers after me. I don't know whether to laugh or be insulted.”

"We're hardly coin starved," the conjurer muttered.

The Mystic Lancer circled around like a huntress, gripping the lance with one hand, eyes critical and steady. Her stance was more solid and less fleetfooted - unusual for an Elezen - and she leveled her lance.

He spun his own lance off his back - And the Eye _shone. He could feel it reaching._

 “Th-the Eye! It … Rouses to another?!”

The light blinded them all and the strangest sounds resonated in his mind. His arm tingled, growing chilly. “Preposterous.”

“What was that?” the tiny conjurer demanded, squinting and blinking. He ignored her, fixating on the lancer.

“Our paths will cross again. You can be sure of it.”

"Well, _you_ area dramatic one."  
  
He was in midair and heading away when her voice carried to his ears and only then did he recall the previous words and almost tripped out of the air. Nonsense!

But the soulmark was tingling with aether, a chill and a pull.

_The Eye had roused to his soulmatch._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really salty about the lack of Duskwight representation in game. Headcanoning that there are plenty in Ishgare. My headcanons don't care about canon.  
> \- Question: would Ishgardians even be aware of the other races??? Hyur and Elezen sure... Though they haven't always been isolated...


	6. Interest

Her name was Isarette. Isarette Fontaine. Apparently, Ywaine of Gridania's Lancer Guild had sent her at Alberic's request. well, at least Alberic didn't just pick random adventurers out of the woodwork. From their easy chatter, he surmised that Isarette and her lalafell companion - Vanava - were good friends, having known each other for quite some time.

To Estinien's relief, Alberic began training the new Azure Dragoon- he had always been sensible - and she progressed in leaps and bounds.

Right into piles of snow sometimes.

"How do you fail so completely?" a Highlander Hyur had joined them, her dark skin sharp against the malms of white snow around them. Her coat flapped in the faint breeze.

"How do you do this without tripping over yourself?" Isarette staggered out of the snowdrift.

"Years of practice!"

"I don't understand why Monks even have a "Hawk" form." Vanava muttered.  
  
"It's a clan thing." the Highlander waved her hands. "Come on, Isza! I believe in you!"

Isarette threw a ball of snow in her face setting off a deadly snowball fight.

Estinien tried not to smile and may have failed.

He could approach her - Isarette. He was fairly sure the soulmarks reacted on both ends- unfortunately it seemed he met his soulmatch before Aymeric so he could not confirm.

However...she had company.

He stayed exactly where he was.

Vanava took cover from the snowball fight behind a rock. "You're being ridiculous!"

"Come, Ava live a little!"

"Oof!" the lalafell went down with a snowball to her face.

"Alright, then..." the conjurer mumbled, having almost disappeared into the snow in her white robes. "This means war."

After much giggling, pelted snow and cursing, Isarette jumped to avoid attack - leaped much higher than she had expected and stumbled as she landd on a ridge baove thwm.

"Success!"

"By accident."

"Shush! Now come back down and do it again!"

Isarette grumbled as they moved to a new spot; Estinien followed.

"It doesn't bother you at all?" the Femme Highlander's voice reached his keen ears - he hadn't caught her name yet. He may have not been paying attention.

"No, leave it."

"I could - "

"It's fine."

"I for one am very uncomfortable with a random, creepy dragoon following us around." Vanava declared.

Estinien stiffened.

"It's not a random - "  
  
Only a crack alerted him and he jumped, a crack of thunder booming just before a bolt of lightning speared through the gloom, sparking up his armor.

"Augh!" He stumble as he landed and shook his electrified arm.

"Kresza!" there was a thump - it was amazing that he was even still listening to this conversation. "Leave off!"

"You are far too nonchalant about this."

"Well, now he knows you're trying to kill him."

"Good." she chirped. "Then he also knows that they'll never find his body."

He wants to scoff but it's probably wiser not to underestimate someone who is clearly close to his soulmatch. Perfect. Now, he would probably have to deal with her too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're lucky, Isarette's pretty chill about this, Estinien.  
> (Elezen are said to have keen hearing but i have not noticed any indication of this in-game. Unless that's purely a Duskwight thing and Wildwood have the hawk eyes)


	7. Granted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never has there been two Azure Dragoons in a single generation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted: July 18th, 2017 - Hehehe... I meant to post this in May but then the chapter was long and it tripped me up... But i didn't forget about this! No, really. I just... was writing other things. But that other thing is long. Let's finish this!

Boulder Downs was a drastically different place since the Calamity and Estinien rather liked the change. He had an excellent view of everything, the red, crystalline rocks adding much needed color to the otherwise grey and white and snowy Coerthas of post 'a dragon broke out of the moon'.

 The whistle thump behind him sounded but he did not move for several ticks. But the silence grated and he was impatient. He turned; the Duskwight arched an eyebrow. Alberic had given her Ishgardian mail. She looked less grounded and more fleet - ready to leap at a moment’s notice. 

 He wasn’t very devout - a little known fact - the sermons bored him out of his skull. If he was going to have a soulmatch, that person had better be a dragoon he had said - or asked Halone, politely (because not going to sermons was one thing being rude to the Fury was another). It was partly why, he’d ignored Aymeric for awhile - but to have that wished granted. He wasn’t very devout - a little known fact - the sermons bored him out of his skull. But it was as if his nameday and several holidays had come at once.

"Ser Alberic said 'facing you at my current strength would be tantamoint to suicide." the idea sounded  _amusing_  to her as if she were equal if not better. Interesting. "I decided to run ahead.” she explained when he did not respond. “I thought you’d be here.”

“Did you get my missive?”

“No. You’ve been following me."

“Who was that woman?” No point in denying it - especially since said mysterious Highlander - Kresza - had tried to zap him with levin. “The one helping you jump?”

“Hm? Oh that was my heart sister - clanskin. Kreszenta." A Highlander clan had adopted her? "I was orphaned and stealing food. A merchant took issue with that. She took issue with his issue, no bigger than I was." she paused. "Actually, she was bigger. I was a spindly thing, you know how Hyur grow faster than us."  
  
He nodded in agreement remembering scuffles with aggravating Hyurlings of his childhood.

"Her parents laid out our pursuers flat - straight into the harbor too. Then, I was stuck with them.” She smiled. "Gave me my name."

"Did you not have one?"

"I did. But names are fluid. call it ... a rebirth. My parents were long dead by then and their clan was - I wasn't the only non-Hyur in it." she hummed, staring into the snow. "I suppose losing their homeland made them kinder to others like them."

 An orphan - taken in by the mercy of others. Similiar to his own background. "Are you Ishgardian?"

She looked at him as if he was a tavern drunkard. "No. I am Ala Mhigan."

"Highlanders could mean either Coerthas  _or_ Gyr Abania."

"Well, the clan is Ala Mhigan so I am as well."

"I meant your birth parents."

She shrugged. "Gridanian, I suppose. I don't think the forest liked me, when I was a child." Another smirk. "It changed its tune." 

He felt like there was a joke he wasn't picking up on. "And the ... lalafell?"

"Some Gridanians are prejudice arses - not fond of Duskwight." Isarette shrugged. "Vanava took issue with that."

"Is this a habit of yours?"

"No," she smirked. "Occasionally, I do the saving."

Again with comments, he wasn't understanding the double meaning of. No matter; it was only the first of many meetings.

“So, what's with this freaky Eye?” she asked. “Is it like a crystal?”

He couldn't decide whether to frown or smirk at her description. “it holds an immense wellspring of power. Which we Azure Dragoons have drawn upon since the first of us - Haldrath of the Dragonseye - claimed it from Nidhogg after the wyrm struck down King Thordan."

"And Haldrath took up the lance to avenge him - spoils of war. Though, I suppose it isn't very squishy.”

He looked at her oddly. “No.”

"In my experience, eyes are squishy."

"And you have experience with eyes?"

"When I stab them, they tend to burst. Not pop out." She paused. "Of  _beasts_. I don't stab out the eyes of random bandits."

He nodded gravely. It was nice to known she did not going about killing rampantly, in any case. "Have you taken a dragon's eye?"

"No. And dragon's eyes defy the usual rule of eyes, clearly."

"Well. The great wyrms yes."

"I don't think I like Coerthas."  
  
The bark of laugh that rang out was quickly suppressed as a the clink of mail announced Alberic’s arrival, cutting further pleasantries short.

“See, I told you she went ahead.” the Lalafell mage - Vanava - had arrived. With her white robes and small stature, only her tall, elegant radical prevented her from becoming lost in the snow.

Estinien turned away from Isarette - his already confusing soulmatch - to his own adoptive parent. “Greetings, Master. It has been too long."


	8. Drachen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My other projects are not going well... Look what I found lurking in the drafts! Posted: August 4th, 2017
> 
> *stares at the post* ...Meh (throws it up anyway)

"I told you she went ahead." the lalafell kept up admirably for one so short. He was not personally familiar with them though Aymeric often read to him from interesting passages aloud of lands far away - ignoring his wishes, of course.

 

"Master," Estinien greeted his adoptive father. "It's been far too long." How drawn and tired the elder dragoon looked, lines from years of work made deeper by worry. Perhaps it was unkind to leave him guessing...

 

"He thought this was a trap by the way," Isarette whispered. "You've made him very anxious."

__A trap_?_ __On his own father?_  A flash of disbelief, annoyance. _Absurd. He glanced at Alberic again heart sinking. Had he really shaken Alberic's faith in him so?

"Isarette! You are familiar?"Alberic's eyes darted between them, flustered.

"No." she joined them on the other ledge, jumping a fair distance back so not to destablize anything. "I thought I have a chat with him myself. Rest assured; he has no malevolent intentions."

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions! Estinien!” His voice was louder than needed, echoing off the stone and hardened crystal, carried off into the misty skies. “End this folly at once! You must know that each second the Eye passes outside Ishgard's walls brings us closer to a repeat of the tragedy of twenty summers past. Surrender yourself and the Eye, and return with me to Ishgard before it is too late.”

"Master Alberic." Isarette sighed. "He is already awakened, this dragon of yours."

 

Estinien nodded, more and more pleased with his soulmatch and fellow Azure Dragoon every moment. “She is keen. And correct.”

“What!?

“Hear me, Master: you have mistaken the cause of the dragons' return─the Eye is not to blame."

“I think he was roused from his slumber,” Isarette muttered.

 

“Tell me - we heard a roar in Coerthas.” Estinien said. “With disquieting similarities to that a dragon - a great one, if not a great wyrm." He wasn't going to mention Bahamut. The one and only time he did, Alberic had very firmly and calmly lecture for nigh on half a bell. ...it was a disturbing contrast to his current state.

 

"For Mor Dhona?" Isarette tilted her head. "I remember."

 

"It was not the Eye that roused the dreadwyrm - but possibly that roar. I wagered that perhaps, if the Eye taken to a remote land, far from the Holy See─then, and only then, could destruction be averted and the lives of innocent Ishgardians be spared."  Now was not the time to speculate over the owner of that roar; it would only further distress Alberic and lead them off track.

“Y-You mean to make a bait of yourself!? ...Nay, there is more to this than you let on. You seek vengeance for Ferndale."

He shrugged. "To me, the two are one and the same. You know my past better than any else. It was for no other reason than to avenge my family that I became a dragoon." And he had even more reason now.

Isarette frowned slightly. Why? Did she not understand or not approve?

 

"Dragons long outlive mortals and do not soon forget the wrongs done them. What grudge they harbor burns as a fire in their hearts, over time swelling into an unquenchable inferno. You need only look back on history to see that Nidhogg grows stronger with each awakening.”

"I'm a little confused as to how the rest of the realm persistently misses this." Vanava muttered.

 

"Nidhogg cares not for other parties. The animosity between Ishgard and Dravanian is ever eternal."

 

"And Ishgard predates all other miterapoleis." Isarette added. "She is the eldest."

 

"When last he darkened our skies, the great wyrm came within a hair's breadth of laying waste to Ishgard."

"If I may interject - twenty years..." Isarette hummed. "1557. Battle of Silvertear. That's why Ishgard withdrew."

"Nay," Alberic correcyed, "1557, Nidhogg arose. 1562, Battle fo Silvertear. Nonetheless... It was a dark - confusing time. I remember it well. We had no Azure Dragoon so Ishard was understandably..."

"panicked. No wonder..."

 Indeed, it was all terrifying blur some days - crystal clear on others. He had know on the sparse trees and rolling green, an the sheep. He shook off these memories. "Naught short of death will prevent Nidhogg from completing his mission when next he wakes. Nidhogg took everything from me─now I shall take everything from him and I will live to speak of the tale." Once death upon achieving his vengeance might have been acceptable to him. But ... with a second Azure Dragoon in play perhaps that would not be necessary.

 

"Have you not gained more since that time?" 

Pulling abruptly out of his thoughts, he stared at her, the winds whistling longer around the crystalline spires - reminders of the Calamity. "Aye." Alberic. Heustienne, pushng his skills to greater heights. Aymeric, however aggravatingly the optimstic he could be. And now Isarette - bafflingly, here despite dying - or rather, disappearing - five years past. A miracle.

"Which is why _we_ shall be the victors. The Eye works in ways mortals can ill comprehend, but this much is plain: in choosing two Azure Dragoons in one generation, it means for us to join together in common cause.” And not even death could stop it.

 

“I think fates do have an odd of way of thinking.”

 

… Had she not told Alberic about their connection? Mischief danced in her eyes though her face was stoic. 

 

"In the long and proud history of Ishgard, never before have two Azure Dragoons arisen in the same era to fight as one. This is our best─nay, our only─chance to send the great wyrm to eternal slumber.”

 

“Well, you know how to show a girl a good time."

He blithely ignored her quips and Vanava's giggling, keen to stay on topic. “Behold my armor. This is the drachen mail, forged in the lifeblood of dragons. As blood calls to blood, so too does the armor call to the dragon within, redoubling the wearer's strength thereby. If you would realize your potential as an Azure Dragoon, you must needs clad yourself in the same.”

Vanava and Isarette both looked him up and down looking deeply skeptical. "Bones, I understand." Vanava said. " _Lifeblood_? Sounds like disaster waiting to happen." she sighed at Isarette. "Kresza would flay you alive if you showed up in that."

He snorted. "I do not expect outsiders to understand.”

Isarette's expression was perfectly flat. "I trust _mon soeur_ \- who've I grown up with, adventured with and bled with - more than I trust Ishgardian armorers who have been isolated from new thoughts for nigh on centuries. So, I'm going to be cynical about 'armor forged from lifeblood of nigh-immortal dragons' because clearly one of us needs to make the smart remarks. I'm _not_ following you to an early grave - been there, done that, I'll put it off for a few more decades, _merci_."

Well. He wasn't the only one slightly offended; Alberic's worry furrow gave way to offense.

"Ah. My apologies." she shrugged. "But I really know nothing about Ishgardian metal smelting. I've seen Kresza work at the forge all the time."

"That... is understandable." Alberic admitted. "But Ishgardian drachen mail techniques have been closely guarded for years."

"Have you ever attempted to argue with a dedicated armorer? Anyroad, it's not in her habit to tell the world how our armor is made."

Alberic reluctantly conceded the point.

“Don't worry," Vana chirped, bouncing on her toes. "I’ll be on hand, Isza!”

... How young was this lalafell? ten? eight?

"You must bear the drachen armor," he was starting to be less amused and more annoyed. "Only clad in drachen mail, shall you be able to inherit the technique passed from Azure Dragoon to Azure Dragoon down through the generations. Then─and only then─will your training be complete. But first, you must win the drachen mail as I and Ser Alberic did before you, by proving yourself worthy in the ultimate trial of the Azure─a series of battles so harrowing as to send the unworthy to an early demise. Stint not in your training; you must needs harness the power of the dragon in full."

She sighed. "Well, if I come 'round with a modified set, I warned you. And, I should have had an early demise five years ago." 

He stared; she winked. "Relax; I don't intend to die until I'm old and creaky."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miterapolis - Metropolis 'mother city'  
> mon soeur - my sister


End file.
